


Let Us Not Burden Our Remembrances

by Teddog



Series: Fate Week 2021 [7]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Late Night Conversations, Multi, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddog/pseuds/Teddog
Summary: A conversation between friends continues long into the night.A follow up to A Heaviness That's Gone (First story in this series)Fate Week Day 7:  Free Day
Series: Fate Week 2021 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102640
Kudos: 5
Collections: Fate Week 2021 Fic Collection





	Let Us Not Burden Our Remembrances

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This is a bookend to the [A Heaviness That’s Gone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686642) and occurs later that same evening. Playing around with the "OT3 energy", as my partner calls it.
> 
>  **Content Warning:** Alcohol use, some slightly adult humour.

“That’s kinda a personal question, don’t you think?” 

Robin was just sober  _ enough _ to know not to yell that retort, despite doing so being his first instinct. That urge to keep hidden was probably the only thing he was good for now. To hell with having another servant walk in and ask what was going on.

Several bottles were lined up on the short table in between him, Sanson and Mata Hari. They chronicled the evening’s descent into debauchery: the bottle of scotch they started on, a couple bottles of wine and finally a bottle of something called absinthe. Robin was a bit skeptical on that last one - humans shouldn’t drink spirits associated with the fae - but Sanson insisted. It wasn’t the worst thing Robin ever drank. 

“Anyway.” Robin slumped back into his chair and took control of the conversation. “Sis, you’re technically in your 40s. Aren’t you a bit old for this sort of game?”

Mata Hari hummed to herself, rocking back and forth. “Spoken like a man who died with only fantasies of older women.”

Sanson snorted. 

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” Robin rolled his eyes. “You’re both geezers. I’ll come to you two for advice when the body aches start.” 

“Robin, I believe you’re technically the oldest of us,” Sanson said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Still not close enough to the Age of Gods to count.” Robin put his empty glass down on the table and gestured to Sanson to fill it with more wine. “Not that that’s a bad thing.” 

“Just imagine that world.” Mata Hari curled up in her chair, mumbling into the cushioned arm. “Untold flashy power at our disposal. Charles’s sword being able to fire a laser beam.”

Sanson’s eyes grew wide in horror. He gripped the bottle of wine tightly, as not to drop it in shock. “I would never!”

“You’re no fun.” Mata Hari folded her arms. “Well, the world contained in my scrapbooks would put the Emperor of Rose’s theater to shame. What about you, Robin?” 

Robin thought about that question for a moment. 

Most of his internal world was focused on the shame of who he  _ was _ , leaving little space for the dream of what he _ could  _ have been. There were small desires and wishes; everyone had those. In this moment surrounded by, well, friends with similarly conflicted feelings about their pasts, he felt strangely content. Maybe that was the alcohol. 

“Yeah, I’d never say that I’m proud of who I am, but it works for me. I’d keep it the same.” 

Mata Hari laughed into the chair. “You boys have no taste for theatrics.” 


End file.
